


Long As I Can See the Light

by ThistleOfLiberty



Series: Not Flesh and Blood Series [9]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Corporal Punishment, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Families of Choice, Father-Son Relationship, Forgiveness, Gen, Spanking, everything works out fine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-26 06:31:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1678241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThistleOfLiberty/pseuds/ThistleOfLiberty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Almost a year after his sudden departure, Gideon returns to Quantico. Not everyone handles it well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Put a candle in the window, 'cause I feel I've got to move  
> Though I'm going (going) I'll be coming home soon  
> Long as I can see the light
> 
> John C. Fogerty, "Long As I Can See the Light"

* * *

  

 

* * *

“Jason.”

Rossi’s voice was flat and icy, perfectly matching the stare he had leveled on Gideon.

“Dave.”

For several seconds Rossi kept staring at Gideon in silence, considering. Then he shrugged. “I suppose you’d better come in.”

Gideon nodded and followed the other man into the house silently. He wasn’t surprised by the chilly welcome. A little over ten months ago, he had left his team, leaving nothing but a note; abandoning them at a time when they were already vulnerable. Reid still not entirely recovered from his addiction, Hotch on the verge of a divorce and all of them still affected by Elle’s actions.

And he had left nothing to help them but a note to Reid.

“So,” Rossi said curtly when they had reached the living room, spinning around to face Gideon, “You’re back.”

“Yes.”

“Am I the first to know?”

Silently, Gideon nodded. It might be cowardly of him; to come first to the one who was least likely to shout at him or punch him. Rossi would be angry at him, of course, but it would be a second-hand anger for hurting Hotch, and perhaps for hurting the rest of the team as well. Gideon wasn’t sure how close the Italian had grown to them, but Reid, at least, had a knack for eliciting protective instincts.

“Are you _going_ to let the others know?”

“Are you going to let me?” Gideon countered. Rossi’s eyes narrowed.

“You hurt those kids a hell of a lot,” he said, his voice quiet and cold. Gideon had expected it, even if shouting would have been better. When the two of them argued – which wasn’t entirely rare – Rossi was usually the one who was the more passionate, while Gideon didn’t raise his voice or snap. But those arguments weren’t really serious; Rossi would be annoyed, but not _angry_. Because when he was properly angry, he spoke with calm iciness and very little emotion.

“I know.”

“ _Why_ , Jason? I know you care for them. Reid’s practically your kid, for God’s sake. And you just abandon them?”

Gideon spread his hands, to a certain degree sharing Rossi’s obvious disbelief at his own behavior. “It became too much. I stopped believing in what we do.”

“So you just _left_?” There was a heavy accusation in Rossi’s voice. It would have made Gideon feel guilty, if he didn’t already carry as much guilt as he could about doing what he’d done.

“I was wrong,” he admitted. Rossi scoffed.

“You were more than wrong, Jason,” he said, “Look, I’m not really pissed that you gave me a reason to come back. I was beginning to miss the job, actually. But do you realize what kind of position you left Aaron in? Did you ever stop to wonder about that? Or were you too selfish to think about anyone but yourself?”

Since the insult was probably justified, Gideon didn’t protest it; just remained silent, waiting for Rossi to say what he wanted to.

“And why couldn’t you leave like I did? Actually _resign_ , let people know you were leaving? Why the hell couldn’t you do that? Did you have to leave without a word?” He paused, taking a deep breath and pushing a hand through his hair. “Damnit, Jason.”

“I agree,” Gideon said quietly. Rossi just glared harder at him for that.

“There are other ways to avoid suicide than spontaneous road trips, you know,” he said acidly. Gideon grimaced. He should have known that Rossi would realize the main motivation for him leaving; fear that if he didn’t he’d end up doing something more permanent.

“Do you want excuses?”

Rossi spread his hands, scoffing. “Do you have any?”

“None that are good enough.”

“You know, Jason,” Rossi crossed his arms, “if it was one of the kids who took off like this, they wouldn’t sit for a week. I’m half-tempted to do the same to you.”

Gideon shrugged. “I’d let you.”

Running a hand through his hair, Rossi let out a deep breath. “I know you would. Which is why I’m not as pissed as I probably should be.”

The stood in silence for a while, Rossi studying some far-off point and Gideon studying him. The Italian was obviously considering the situation, evaluating options and calculating consequences.

“You’ll need to let Aaron know,” he said finally, “Personally, I think it’s good you’re back, but he might disagree. And that’s his choice.”

Gideon nodded. “Of course.”

“And as for Reid…” Rossi trailed off, grimacing slightly. Again, Gideon shared his sentiments.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” he said with considerably more calm than he really felt.

“Yeah. I’ll call Hotch.”

 

* * *

 

“Aaron. Are you at home?” Rossi spoke curtly, no preamble to the terse inquiry.

Confused, Hotch raised his eyebrows, despite that Rossi couldn’t see him over the phone. “Yeees..?” he said slowly, letting his puzzlement show in his voice.

“Sit down,” Rossi ordered firmly in the kind of tone that meant he expected to be obeyed unquestionably. Despite his trepidation, Hotch did. He heard Rossi draw a deep breath before the man spoke. “Jason is at my house, Aaron.”

For several seconds, Hotch was struck quiet. He was glad that Rossi had taken the precaution of making him sit down. “What?” he said flatly.

“Jason is back,” Rossi repeated. Hotch took a long breath.

“I’m coming over,” he announced curtly, getting to his feet.

“Aaron!” Rossi said, “Don’t. You’re not in any state to drive right now.”

Hotch ignored him, just kept walking briskly toward the door.

“Aaron Hotchner!” Rossi snapped again, “ _Sit down_!”

Hotch hung up.

 

* * *

 

Hotch’s knuckles were whitened from his tight grip on the steering wheel, his breath coming in short, abrupt gasps as he tried to stop his body from shaking. Distantly, he could recognize it as shock, and he noted absently that maybe Rossi had been right in saying he wasn’t fit to drive, especially when he had to brake suddenly and forcefully to avoid running a red light.

But he was too upset to care; the old anger at Gideon for leaving flaring up once more. And now, as he was beginning to actually process what he had been told, some concern, because he realized he hadn’t asked Rossi about _why_ Gideon was back. Perhaps the former profiler was dying, and wanted to say good bye. Or maybe he was injured, or on the run from something.

It might have been a good idea to let Rossi finish explaining.

Less than ten minutes later, Hotch pulled over outside Rossi’s house, the tires screeching at the perhaps excessively violent parking. The driveway was lit and when Hotch got out he realized that wasn’t the only sign he was expected: Rossi was standing on the porch waiting for him with crossed arms.

“What part of ‘don’t’ do you have problems understanding?” he snapped. Hotch glared at him.

“I don’t want to do this right now, Dave,” he said, pushing his way past Rossi into the house, “Where’s Jason?”

Rossi stopped him with a grip on his arm. “Aaron, calm down,” he ordered, giving Hotch a small shake before he forcibly spun him around to face him, “Jason is fine. There’s nothing wrong with him. You’ll see him soon, but you need to calm down first.”

“Why!?” Hotch snarled, half-heartedly trying to shake off Rossi’s grip. The older man just pulled Hotch closer.

“Because you’re shaking,” he said quietly, “I don’t care how much you shout at Jason later, but you’re verging on shock right now.” He grimaced, studying Hotch with his head tilted. “I shouldn’t have told you over the phone.”

“I want to see Gideon,” Hotch said, very calmly.

“Well, you can’t always get what you want,” Rossi retorted, “Come and sit down for a while.”

He began to lead Hotch toward the kitchen, but after only a few steps Hotch pulled away. “Dave, _I want to see Gideon_!”

Rossi gave him a mild look. “But you’re _going_ to come with me to the kitchen and calm down. Or the corner is always an option. That usually calms you down, doesn’t it?”

Narrowing his eyes, Hotch determined that there was a chance Rossi was serious, so with a fierce glare he stalked past him into the kitchen. Rossi followed at a more sedate pace, with a deep sigh. “Aaron,” he said, “I’m not asking you not to be pissed at Jason. I’m asking you to calm down enough to be able to think clearly. Turn around.”

Deciding that there was enough steel in Rossi’s voice that even more disobedience would be a bad idea, Hotch did as he was told and didn’t pull away when Rossi took his face in both hands, calmly meeting Hotch’s eyes.

“Take a few deep breaths,” he instructed, “Good. Keep breathing. Relax. You’re not about to go in a boxing match. Unclench your fists. Atta boy.”

Hotch didn’t really like how good was Rossi was at this; he would have preferred to cling on to his uncomplicated anger at Gideon and avoid having to actually think. But Rossi’s soothing voice soon had his breathing even out and the irrationality of anger fade away.

“Are you still angry?” Rossi asked when most of the tension had left Hotch’s body, tilting his head in question. Hotch nodded, which was a bit difficult when Rossi still had his face in his hands.

“Yes, I’m still angry! Shouldn’t I be?”

“Yes, you should,” Rossi agreed, letting go of Hotch’s face but kept his eyes firmly focused on Hotch, “You gonna be able to talk to Jason now without breaking any of my furniture?”

Hotch nodded again.

“All right. I’ll take Mudgie for a walk then. Jason’s upstairs. And Aaron?” When Rossi had Hotch’s attention, he quickly snaked out a hand to deliver a firm smack to his backside, “That’s for not staying put.”

Giving Rossi a half-hearted glare, Hotch headed up the stairs.

Like he’d told Rossi, he _was_ still angry, but it was no longer the kind of anger that clouded his mind and made it impossible to think rationally. It was the focused anger that he could separate from his thoughts and let be simply a motivating force in the background.

He thought he’d been prepared for seeing Gideon again. And there wasn’t really anything that was surprising about his appearance: he wore his customary shirt and jeans and his face had its usual serene expression. But suddenly seeing the man after almost a year – and seeing him looking so very similar; as if nothing had changed – disturbed him.

“Gideon,” Hotch greeted, meeting his eyes straight on and trying not to let any of the emotional turmoil inside of him shine through.

“Hotch,” Gideon replied calmly. For a long time they stood staring at each other in silence. Gideon made no move to apologize or explain himself; just stood there, submitting himself to Hotch’s intense scrutiny.

“ _Why_?” Hotch said finally.

“Why did I leave or why did I come back?” Gideon’s voice was as unshakably calm as always. Hotch wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Obviously, he hadn’t expected Gideon to break down in tears and stammer our apologies – the man didn’t let the most of violent of serial killers faze him, after all – but he would still have liked it if Gideon gave _some_ sign that he was affected by this as well.

“Both,” he said.

“I left because I stopped believing in what we do. I stopped believing in happy endings.”

“And why have you come back?”

Gideon gave a small, lopsided smile. “I finally realized that if I ever were to start believing again it wouldn’t be away from everyone I care about.”

Hotch breathed deeply for several seconds, turning around and walking over to Rossi’s expansive window to look at out at the backyard. “I’m angry at you,” he said quietly, crossing his arms.

“I didn’t expect anything else.”

“You _left!_ You abandoned the team! You abandoned Reid! You abandoned…” he broke off, taking several deep uneven breaths, and ran a hand through his hair.

“You,” Gideon filled in, “I abandoned you.”

“Yes,” Hotch said shortly. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the fact that a large part of the anger he felt at Gideon was for leaving _him_ , and not for leaving Reid or the others. Gideon had never really been his mentor or anything like that and Hotch really shouldn’t feel as abandoned as he did, but once Rossi had retired Gideon had been the one he could rely on, could unload some of his responsibility to. “Are you here to stay?”

“If you and the team will let me.”

Hotch sighed and closed his eyes. It was at times like these he hated being Unit Chief: when he had to make decisions that affected the whole team and he had no way of being certain what the right thing to do was. He was proud of what he had achieved, but sometimes he couldn’t help but wish that it was the way it was ten years ago, and trust Rossi to take care of things.

“Dave’s the only one who knows so far?” he asked, turning around to face Gideon again. The older man nodded. Hotch bit his lip for a moment before he spoke again. “Reid’s still shaken by you leaving. You recruited him, you trained him, you… you were his father, Jason. And then you abandoned him. If… if you come back, it _has_ to be for good.”

Gideon spread his hands. “Believe me, Hotch, I know. Leaving Reid was never what I wanted.”

“Well, it’s what you did,” Hotch snapped, his anger rising up to the surface.

“I know,” Gideon said, still with the same unfazed calm, “And it’s one of the biggest mistakes of my life. Just like abandoning you and the rest of the team.”

Hotch let out a deep breath. “Do you promise not to leave again?”

“Yes.” Gideon met Hotch’s eyes straight on, his body language completely open. He was obviously sincere, and once Hotch had determined that there really wasn’t any question of what choice he’d make. If he’d thought that Gideon would run off again – hurting Reid even further – he could feel justified in taking away the choice from the younger man. But Gideon seemed truly committed to making amends, and then Hotch really had to leave it up to Reid whether he wanted to let the older man back in or not.

“I’ll call Reid,” he said, “but if he says no, I expect you to leave and not come back. You hurt _him_ the most. It’s his decision.”

“I understand.”

Hotch nodded once, before he turned around to leave Gideon – not wanting to speak to the man any more than he had to. Then he changed his mind and took two long steps over to the former profiler.

And punched him squarely on the jaw.

 

* * *

 

Gideon held the pack of frozen peas to his jaw, looking at Hotch with a touch of wry admiration. The man knew how to hit, at least. “It’s fine, Hotch,” he said soothingly, following the man agitatedly pacing the kitchen floor with his eyes, “You’ve probably wanted to do that for a while.”

“Since the first time Reid told me he thought he was a disappointment to you,” Hotch admitted, rubbing at his neck, “But I shouldn’t have done it. And I don’t think Dave will appreciate it.”

“I could tell him I walked into a door,” Gideon offered. Hotch scoffed, but there was a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Yeah, he’s never heard that before…”

“You should put some ice on your knuckles.” Gideon nodded to the already bluish area, making Hotch hold it up, looking a bit surprised that it was bruised.

“Oh. Yeah, probably.” He walked over to the freezer and ruffled through it for something to use, ending up with a pack of raspberries, “Should we call Dave to let him know we’re… done?”

Before Gideon had time to answer, they heard the front door open and the happy panting of a large dog. Rossi was home.

Hotch looked toward the hallway, swallowing and moistening his lips with the tip of his tongue, probably trying to decide whether he wanted to greet his mentor sooner or later. To be honest, Gideon didn’t think he had anything to worry about; Rossi would almost certainly be, if anything, approving of the punch.

“You guys managed not to break anything?” Rossi called out from the hallway, but neither Hotch nor Gideon answered before he appeared in the doorway. He paused, raising his eyebrows. His eyes darted between the two of them. “Oh,” he said. Then he looked to Hotch, nodding toward Gideon. “You knock him out?”

“No…” Hotch replied hesitantly, raising his eyebrows, “I didn’t…”

“Oh, well… Let me see your knuckles.” He held out his hand demandingly, and Hotch obediently walked over and let Rossi survey his bruised hand. “You’re gonna be pretty sore tomorrow. Keep the ice on.”

“You’re not angry?”

“Nah, not really,” Rossi replied with a shrug. He turned to Gideon, gesturing for him to lower the frozen peas. He studied the already darkening bruise with head tilted for a second or two. Then he turned to Hotch again. “Aim a bit higher next time.”

Hotch snorted, shaking his head incredulously. He’d probably expected lecturing from the older man, rather than advice on how to do more damage next time.

“So, you guys decide anything?”

“Yes,” Hotch said, “We’re going to call Reid. And the rest of the team, I suppose.”

“Good. Maybe you’ll get a matching eye,” Rossi said, smirking at Gideon, “You calling him right now?”

“That’s probably for the best,” Hotch said, “But… I’ll go over there and talk to him, rather than tell him over the phone.”

Rossi crossed his arms and gave the younger man a pointed look. “That might be a good idea, if he’s as bad at following orders as certain others.”

Hotch gave Rossi a chagrined smile. “Sorry about that. I… was upset.”

“Which is why you’re not over my knee right now,” Rossi replied, “You _don’t_ hang up on me.”

“Yes sir,” Hotch said, not entirely jokingly. Then he stood. “I’ll go to Reid’s place right away. I should be back in forty minutes or so.”

Gideon nodded. “We’ll be here.”

 

* * *

 

The buzz of the house phone interrupted Reid in the middle of a new dissertation on quantum physics. With a puzzled frown – he couldn’t think of anyone who would visit at this time of night – Reid got up and pressed the button. “Yeah?”

“It’s me: Hotch. Can you let me up?” The man’s even voice had an undertone of tenseness that immediately put Reid on the alert.

“Hotch, is there something wrong?”

“No. No, nothing’s wrong,” Hotch replied quickly, not sounding entirely convincing, “Just… let me up, okay?”

Still puzzled, Reid did as he was asked. Hotch rarely came to his apartment, and every time he had done it so far it had been either because Reid was ill or, once, to spank Reid. And since it this time wasn’t the first, Reid was a bit alarmed. He couldn’t think of anything he had done wrong, but it was always possible that Hotch disagreed.

Before he had time to worry long about it, the doorbell rang. After reflexively checking the peephole, Reid unlocked and opened the door. “Hi, Hotch.”

“Hi,” the man replied, following Reid into the apartment.

Reid stopped in the middle of the room, turning to look at Hotch with his arms around himself. “So… what are you doing here?”

Hotch hesitated for a split second. “Would you sit down please? You’re not in trouble,” he added, probably interpreting Reid’s nervousness for what it was. Then he raised an eyebrow. “Unless there’s something you want to tell me?”

“No, sir.” Reid sat down, anxiously picking at the hem of his shirt as he looked up at Hotch. The Unit Chief was silent for a moment, before he spoke.

“Gideon is back, Reid.”

Reid blinked.

“He came tonight,” Hotch continued, “and… he wants to see you.”

“He wants to see me?” Reid echoed, frowning deeply. Hotch nodded.

“You don’t have to see him. It’s completely up to you. I… I know he hurt you.”

Drawing a deep, slightly shaky breath, Reid closed his eyes. Gideon. Gideon was back. And he wanted to see Reid. Thoughts spinning – completely chaotic – Reid didn’t notice Hotch taking a seat next to him until the man put hand on his shoulder.

“Reid?” he said quietly, “Are you okay?”

“I…” Reid took another shuddering breath and bit his lip, “I don’t know.”

He supposed he was probably in some shock – the slight numbness of his lips and his racing thoughts pointed to it – and the emotions whirling through him were too many and too chaotic for him to make much sense of.

There was happiness, because Reid had missed Gideon and the possibility of having him back was… tempting. There was anger, because he hadn’t forgiven the older man for leaving. And then there was hesitation, which teetered between hope and trepidation; part of Reid wanting to think that Gideon coming back meant something and part of him dreading that it didn’t and he was going to be let down again.

“You should take some time to think about it,” Hotch said, giving Reid’s shoulder a light squeeze, “There’s no reason you should decide right away.”

Reid bit his lip.

“No!” he said after a moment, rushing to get the words out, “No, I want to see him. Now.”

He wasn’t actually at all sure that he did; he just knew that if he didn’t come to a decision now, he might never manage to. And he that if he refused to see Gideon, he would never stop questioning what could have happen. There was of course the risk that he would meet Gideon and afterward never stop questioning why he’d been stupid enough not to take the hint the first time.

“Are you sure?” Hotch asked, a small frown on his face as he studied Reid.

“Yes. I’m sure.” With a jerky nod, Reid got to his feet and headed toward the door. “I’m very sure. Let’s go see Gideon. Nothing to be afraid of. Nothing…”

Hotch caught him by the arm, stopping both his ramble and his exit. “All right, we’ll go. But calm down some first.”

“I am calm!” Reid insisted, fruitlessly trying to pull out of Hotch’s grip, “Let’s go!”

“Reid,” Hotch warned, and Reid immediately stilled at the patented Hotch-tone that somehow managed to include several different warnings and threats. It wasn’t fair how good his boss was at that. Once he had stopped struggling, Reid’s eyes fell on Hotch’s hand.

“Hotch?” he said, eyebrows drawn together in question, “Your knuckles.”

With a small embarrassed smile, Hotch let go of Reid’s arms and studied his hand, which was a deep shade of blue. “I didn’t calm down enough before I saw Gideon,” he said simply. After a moment’s thought, Reid’s eyes widened in comprehension.

“You punched Gideon?” he asked in a wonder-filled voice. With a grimace, Hotch nodded.

“Yes,” he said shortly. Reid stared at him for a moment longer.

“Was he angry?”

“Not really,” Hotch said with a small shrug, “I don’t think it was entirely unexpected.”

Reid pursed his lip. “I guess not…” he said and then frowned, looking down at his feet, “Hotch? Why is he back?”

His voice sounded a lot smaller than he would have liked, making obvious the hopeful nervousness churning through him. Hotch was silent for a moment, studying Reid.

“I think you should hear that from him,” he said finally, “But it’s nothing bad.”

Worrying at his lower lip with his teeth, Reid studied Hotch’s expression. The older man looked sincere, so after a moment’s thought Reid nodded. “Okay. I’m calm now. Can we go?”

Hotch frowned, looking Reid up and down. Then he gave a short nod. “All right. Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

“Reid,” Gideon said softly. The older man looked just the same as he had before he left, standing in the middle of Rossi’s living room with a calm expression.

“Gideon,” Reid answered, weighing on his feet. He swallowed. “You’re… you’re back.”

“Yes, I am.”

Reid drew a deep breath, looking away from Gideon and wrapping his arms around himself. He wasn’t sure he could do this. It had seemed like a good idea, but now that he stood in front of the man that was quickly beginning to change.

“You left,” he said quietly, making it a statement of fact and not the accusation he wanted to make it. Because he didn’t really have any right to be angry with Gideon; it wasn’t as if the man had any kind of obligation to him. There was nothing to say that Gideon couldn’t leave the BAU if he wanted to, or that he had to let Reid know about his plans.

It wasn’t as if he had promised that he would stay forever.

“Yes, I did.” Gideon’s reply was noncommittal, his even gaze remaining as a heavy weight on Reid. He said nothing else, and with a pang of irritation Reid realized he was he would be forced to continue without Gideon’s input.

“Uhm… so… are you back to join the team again?”

The older man’s thick eyebrows drew together. “Is that why you think I’m back?”

“Well, you’re a natural profiler,” Reid said, he too frowning, thoughtfully in his case. He wasn’t sure why Gideon sounded so skeptical. “Like Rossi. And he came back.”

“You think he came back just because of the job?”

Hesitating, Reid was silent for a moment. “There was a case, too. That was unsolved and… bothered him. We helped him with that.”

“The Galen case,” Gideon agreed, “Always did haunt him. But why d’you think he came back just after I left?”

“We-ell… there was a spot open on the team.”

“There would have been a spot for Dave whenever he asked for it,” Gideon said. He suddenly sounded impatient and frowned at Reid sternly as he continued, “You’re a profiler, Reid. You know why he came back.”

He stopped after that, obviously waiting for Reid to supply the reason. But since Gideon had forced him to lay out his thoughts without support, Reid just looked down at his shoes without saying anything, although he supposed that he did know Rossi’s main reason for returning. It had been fairly obvious, after all. Gideon left, leaving Hotch without support and the team one profiler short, and a couple of months later Hotch’s old mentor returned, showing obvious concern for Hotch and quickly assuming some of Hotch’s responsibilities.

“He came back because he loves Hotch and wants to help him,” Gideon said when it became apparent that Reid wasn’t going to answer. Reid shrugged.

“Hotch doesn’t need any help from you,” he said brusquely, “So you can leave again.”

From under his fringe, Reid could see Gideon’s frown deepening. “You think I’m back for Hotch’s sake?”

Reid shrugged again, hugging himself. “You’ve known him for a long time.”

“I’ve known a lot of people for a long time. But I’ve only recruited one.”

His eyes darting up to look at Gideon, Reid almost took a step back as he swallowed. Did Gideon really mean what it sounded like? Because he couldn’t. He had no obligation to Reid; it made no sense for him to return for his sake. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not back for Hotch,” Gideon said shortly. He studied Reid silently for several seconds, maybe waiting for an answer, and when he got none he spread his hands. “I’m back for _you_ , Spencer.”

Reid shook his head, his hair falling into his face. “You left!” he protested. And that was what it all came back to, really. Whatever obligations Gideon had felt toward Reid obviously hadn’t been enough to hold the profiler from leaving and there was no reason to think they’d be enough to bring him back, no matter what Gideon said.

“And I’m sorry about that. It hurt you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Reid replied, shrugging. Gideon frowned again.

“It doesn’t matter that it hurt you?”

“It’s not like you _had_ to stay.”

After a beat, Gideon took a step toward Reid who in response backed away. He wanted some distance between himself and the older man. Mostly because it let him pretend that there was some distance between his emotions and this whole situation.

Gideon exhaled audibly. “Yes. I did have to.” He was silent for what seemed like a very long time and when he spoke again his voice was very soft. “Parents don’t get to leave their children, Spencer.”

Reid took another step back, ending up with his back pressed against the wall, as he shook his head fervently. “I’m not a child. I don’t need you.”

“Doesn’t matter. Other animals push away their young once they can fend for themselves. Humans don’t.”

“I’m not yours,” Reid replied, raising his chin. To his surprise, Gideon smiled at that.

“Yes, you are,” he said calmly. Reid frowned.

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” Gideon repeated, completely ignoring Reid beginning to contradict him again as he continued, “Whether you like it or not.”

“You can’t decide that!”

“That I care for you?” Gideon scoffed, “Reid, whether you forgive me or not is your choice. Whether I love you or not isn’t.”

Reid shook his head. “No.”

Gideon raised his eyebrows. “No what?”

Pressing himself against the wall, Reid shook his head again, more emphatically. “No… No! You left! Happy endings, remember?” His voice was small and lost on the last words, and Gideon’s expression was soft as he replied, hands spread in front of him.

“I realized that the only happy ending I needed I’d already found,” he said, “On the front seat listening to my lecture about profiling.”

Not at all sure what he felt about what Gideon was saying, Reid frowned and raised his arms to cross them over his chest. “I’m not a happy ending.”

A wry smile curved Gideon’s mouth as he replied. “To me, you are. I found a son without even looking and he ended up being one I could be more than proud of.”

His mouth dropping open, Reid stared at Gideon. It wasn’t complete news to him, of course; Gideon had told him before he was proud of Reid and he had hinted – more than hinted, really – that he considered Reid a son. But he had assumed that the man leaving should be seen as a retraction of those things; that Gideon had given up on him. It shouldn’t really have come as a surprise, either. Reid knew he hadn’t been a very good son, or agent for that matter.

“You can’t be proud of me,” he said. Gideon raised his eyebrows, looking mildly curious.

“I can’t?”

“No!”

“Why not?”

“Because…” Reid hesitated, pressing his lips together. “Because!”

It admittedly wasn’t the most eloquent of answers and Gideon didn’t look particularly impressed when Reid moved away from the wall and headed for the stairs.

“I need to go,” he said.

“Reid...” Gideon began, taking a step toward the stairs as if to intercept Reid’s flight.

“I really need to go,” Reid repeated, sidestepping Gideon and sprinting down the stairs.

He needed to think, to be alone for a while. It wasn’t fair how much Gideon’s words were unsettling him, how very much they shook him.

Once he was down the stairs he headed for the door, but he was stopped by Rossi and Hotch coming out of the kitchen, probably having heard him stomp down the stairs.

“Reid?” Hotch said, “What…”

“I need to go!” Reid interrupted him, continuing toward the door, but when the Unit Chief’s eyebrows drew together in a warning frown he stopped and took a few calming breaths, “We talked, but I…. I need some time to think. Alone.”

The frown stayed on Hotch’s face but after a moment he slowly inclined his head. “All right. Do you want a ride home?”

“No. Thanks. I want to walk.” Reid bit his lip, darting a quick look up the stairs. “Tell Gideon… tell him I’ll see him tomorrow. If he’s still here.”

He couldn’t help a hint of bitterness to leak into the last words and Hotch’s face softened, probably in sympathy. “He will be. Call me tonight, let me know how you are.”

Reid nodded before he hurried over to the door, snatching his coat on the way, and got out. He needed to think.

 

* * *

 

“Is that Aaron?” It was Jo’s voice, coming from a distance.

“Yes,” Leroy replied, sounding a bit farther from the receiver.

“Let me talk to him,” Jo demanded.

“Darling…” Leroy began, sounding conciliatory, but before he had time to finish his voice faded as Jo apparently took the phone from him.

“Aaron David Hotchner,” she snapped, sounding about as stern as Hotch had ever heard her, “is it true that you punched Jason?”

“Uh, yes,” Hotch replied after a split-second’s hesitation, hearing Leroy trying to soothe his wife in the background.

“And what on Earth possessed you do something like that, young man?”

Hotch grimaced. ‘Young man’ was bad, especially said in that tone of voice. It was impressive how thoroughly disapproving Jo could sound.

Before Hotch could begin to defend himself, Jo continued. “I know Dave somehow got into his head that what you did was somehow acceptable, but violence is not how we deal with family issues!”

“No ma’am,” Hotch replied immediately, almost reflexively.

“I don’t care about your reasons. Punching family members is never okay. Do you understand me?”

“Yes ma’am. But…”

“No buts, Aaron. Just explain yourself.”

Hotch frowned, because Jo surely knew the reason for his anger with Gideon. “He left us.”

“And that’s an excuse?”

“Well…” Hotch faltered slightly, unused to being spoken to like this by _Jo_. Not that the woman was incapable of sternness or of showing disapproval, but… she usually didn’t. And very rarely with as much force as right now. “No. It’s not, I suppose.”

“You suppose?”

“It’s not,” Hotch conceded, “I know it’s not, Jo. But…”

“I thought I said no buts?” Jo broke him off, “Have you apologized to Jason yet?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Are you going to?”

“Jo…” Hotch began hesitantly. Because he hadn’t really intended to apologize to Gideon. Both Rossi and the Leroys were generally insistent on apologies for wrong-doings, but never simply for the sake of saying sorry; they expected him to actually be sorry when he apologized. And Hotch wasn’t particularly sorry about punching Gideon. “I’m not sure I’d mean it.”

For a long time, there was silence at the other end of the line before Jo spoke tersely. “Then maybe you should do some thinking about why you _should_ mean it.”

“Jo, I…”

“Or maybe you want me to come down and you can I can have a talk about it?” Jo’s voice was stern, leaving no doubt what kind of ‘talk’ it would be and Hotch didn’t hesitate before he replied.

“No ma’am. I’ll… think about it. You don’t need to come down.”

“That’s what I thought,” Jo replied curtly, “I’ll expect a call within a week, or I _will_ come down and discuss this with you.”

With that Jo disappeared from the line and after a moment Hotch heard Leroy again. “Hello again.”

“Yeah…” Hotch paused. “She wouldn’t really come down here, would she?”

Leroy was silent for a beat. “I’m sorry, you have met my wife?”

Seeing the older man’s point, Hotch sighed deeply. “Do _you_ think I should apologize?”

“Well…” Leroy began, “I’m afraid I do. I don’t really care about Jason getting a bit bruised, but violence doesn’t solve things. If it did, we’d have reached world peace a long time ago.”

“I’m not sure you can equate personal quarrels with geopolitical conflicts.”

“Not my point,” Leroy said, “And don’t argue with me. What I mean is that you punching Jason won’t make anyone feel any better. And besides, it’s the principle of the thing.”

“I know,” Hotch replied, sighing again, “And I _am_ sorry, really. Just not to Jason.”

“You can be sorry and angry at the same time, Aaron. Sorry for how you dealt with being angry, but not sorry for being angry.”

Hotch nodded, even though Leroy couldn’t see him, before he spoke again, this time hesitantly and quietly. “I know I was wrong, really. I just… I don’t want to be the kind of man who uses violence on his family.”

Somewhat surprising to Hotch, Leroy scoffed at that. “There’s a difference between using violence on your family and punching a man who betrayed you and hurt those you care for. Aaron _mon cher_ , you were in the wrong, but you haven’t somehow changed fundamentally. You lost your temper because someone you depended on and who had an obligation to you abandoned you and your family. It’s not surprising.”

“And what if I lose my temper with someone else?” Like Jack or Reid, he added silently to himself.

“Then _I’ll_ come down and spank you. But you won’t.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Because I know _you_ , and you’re not the kind of man who would ever hit someone who depends on him.”

Apparently Leroy was perceptive enough to catch that it was that Hotch was afraid of, which wasn’t really a surprise, and with a small smile Hotch exhaled. “Tell Jo I’ll talk to Gideon. And that I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to disappoint her.”

Instead of answering Hotch, Leroy held the phone away from his mouth and called out to his wife. “Would you come say good bye to Aaron, my love?”

“What is it?” he heard Jo ask after a moment – she couldn’t have been very far away – but he didn’t hear whatever reply Leroy mumbled to his wife, probably holding a hand over the receiver. Jo came on the line again. “Aaron, I’m not disappointed. I’m upset because neither you nor Dave seem to understand that no matter how good a reason you have to be angry, violence isn’t the answer.”

Hotch sighed. “I do understand that.”

“I know you do, honey,” Jo replied, considerably more gently than before, “Even if you forget it sometimes, you’re a sensible man. I know you’re still angry with Jason, and I don’t expect you to forgive him straight away. But I do expect you to apologize to him. Do we understand each other now?”

“Yeah. We do.”

“Good.”

“Mm,” he said and waited a beat before he added, deciding that Jo was placated enough for him to bring up his next point. “And, uhh… my middle name isn’t ‘David’, you know.”

Jo scoffed and Hotch thought he could hear a chuckle from Leroy. “Well, I needed something to call you and I refuse to use Stephen,” she said, managing to put an impressive amount of derision into the name Hotch had inherited from his father, “Would you prefer Alexander? Or Ezekiel?”

“You could use all of them,” Leroy suggested, “’Aaron David Ezekiel Alexander Hotchner’ has a certain ring to it, no?”

Before Hotch had time to protest that he _really_ didn’t think that it did – although it did please him slightly that Jo suggested, even jokingly, that he should be named after her husband or after Ezekiel Stark – Jo spoke, not at all hiding her amusement. “What a lovely idea, my darling. We’ll need to call Dave and let him know.”

“I’d really rather you didn’t,” Hotch said, not _entirely_ certain that the couple were joking. From the way his words were met with laughter, he guessed they were, though.

“Oh, sweetie,” Jo said affectionately, “Speak to Jason. And to Dave as well, or someone else. You need to sort through your feelings about this.

“My beloved wife is right,” Leroy added, “Talking through it will help you make sense of it. You know both of us are always available.”

Hotch smiled. “I know. And I will. Thank you.”

“We’re just happy to help, _mon cher_. Call soon. _Ciao_.”

“Within a week, remember,” Jo finished the call, “Take care.”


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

 

It probably spoke to Hotch’s tenseness that he flinched when the phone interrupted his study of a case file, almost making him topple over his cup of coffee. Frowning, he picked up the phone. “Hotchner.”

“Agent Hotchner?” a vaguely familiar voice said at the other end, “This is John Hanford. From the Hamilton bar?”

“Oh, yes,” Hotch replied, recognizing the voice. It was the bartender from the place near the office where a lot of FBI agents, occasionally including the BAU team, ate meals or had drinks, “Is something wrong?”

“Well…” Hanford said slowly, “Not wrong, really. Um… the kid on your team, Doctor Reid? He’s here and he… is really drunk.”

“I’m sorry?” Hotch asked. This was… completely unexpected. He had never known Reid to handle his feelings with alcohol and even though the younger man was more than upset right now, there had been no reason to think that would change.

“I know he’s not a kid, technically,” Hanford continued, “But, well… Y’know.”

“Yes,” Hotch said. Hanford had worked serving FBI agents long enough to be aware of the family dynamics that often developed in teams working as closely as they often did, and understood how to deal with them. “Thanks for calling. I’ll be over in fifteen minutes.”

“All right. I’ll give him a cup of coffee.”

 

* * *

 

It took Hotch closer to ten minutes than fifteen to reach the Hamilton and he hurried inside, locking the car door and taking with him the jacket he had brought for Reid. It was cold, and he wasn’t entirely sure the young man had the sense to take his own jacket.

“Agent Hotchner,” Hanford greeted him as soon as he came in the door, in an almost comically stereotypical fashion polishing a glass with a towel, “The kid’s over there. If it’d been me here I’d have cut him off a while ago, but it was one of the new guys who was serving him. I gave him some coffee, but he’s a bit out of it.”

“How much has he had?” Hotch asked, concerned. The wiry man shrugged.

“Enough. He’s kind of a lightweight. You should feed him more.”

“We’re trying,” Hotch replied with a small smile, “And thanks again.”

Hanford gave him a wry smile, patting his shoulder. “This isn’t the first time I’ve called a boss about some kid trying to drown his sorrows.” He squinted. “Come to think of it, haven’t I called Dave Rossi ‘bout you?”

Hotch looked away from the bartender, clearing his throat awkwardly. Because yes, he had once gotten completely wasted in this very bar, prompting an incensed Rossi to come pick him up. To be honest, the drinking had been more about pushing boundaries than handling unwanted emotions that time, but the same basic principle applied. Namely, getting wasted alone led to having his butt roasted over his mentor’s knee.

“Uhm…” he said, not very eloquently. Hanford chuckled at him, giving his shoulder another pat before he returned to behind the bar disk. Hotch looked after him with a wry smile – not sure how else to react to the reminder that there were more people than he usually thought about who remembered his early days as an agent – and headed over to the corner table where Reid was curled up.

The young man didn’t look up from his sullen study of the contents of his glass until Hotch cleared his throat loudly from only a few paces away. Reid looked up, his eyes somewhat unfocused as he tried to figure out who had disturbed him. After a while, recognition came over his features and he smiled. “Hi, Hotch.”

“Reid,” Hotch said sternly, trying to look as disapproving as possible.

“What…” Reid slurred the word and trailed off, then visibly composed the sentence in his head before he tried again, “Wha’ are you doin’ here?”

“Picking you up.”

Reid scrunched up his face, giving Hotch a sulky look. “Bu’ I don’ wanna go.”

“Well, you _are_ going. Now.”

“No thanks. I like it here,” Reid slurred, leaning forward on the table, resting his head against his crossed arms and spinning his glass around with his fingers.

“Spencer,” Hotch said in a voice that was an imitation of the low, warning tone that Rossi used on him when he was seriously pushing it, “We are leaving _now_ or we will have a talk right now and here, and not just tomorrow.”

His mouth slightly open, Reid stared at Hotch for several seconds, probably trying to work out what he was being told. Then he understood, and his lips formed into a pout. “Don’ wanna have a talk. Ever.”

Hotch almost smiled, shaking his head. “There will be a talk, Reid, but right now, just get up and come with me. You don’t want to push me right now.”

Frowning even deeper, Reid half rolled over on his side. “Don’ wanna.”

Losing his already sorely tried patience, Hotch grabbed Reid by the collar and dragged him to his feet. “We’re leaving, Spencer,” he said very quietly, leaning close to the younger man. “By yourself, or being dragged by the ear.”

In a rather accurate fish-impression, Reid stared at Hotch for a while. Then he nodded jerkily, and started to get out from the booth. He didn’t quite succeed though, and Hotch had to use both hands to steady him. “All right,” the kid muttered, “All right. ‘M going. No talk, ‘kay?”

Hotch sighed. “Not right now, no. Let’s just get you home.”

For the rest of the way home Reid was compliant, getting into the car and fumbling a bit with the seatbelt before Hotch reached over and did it for him. When they reached Hotch’s apartment building he stumbled out of the car, leaning heavily on Hotch as they stood in the elevator.

“Gideon’s back, Hotch,” the young man said suddenly, his tone suggesting that he was confiding an important secret.

“I know,” Hotch replied, steadying Reid as the elevator came to a stop and they stepped out.

“He left.”

“Yes.”

Shuffling along next to him, Reid put his head on Hotch’s shoulder. “I didn’ wan’im to.”

“I know you didn’t. I didn’t want him to either,” Hotch replied calmly, trying to jostle Reid as little as possible as he got his keys out. Then he repositioned the kid so he could disable the alarm and then the two of them stumbled inside, Reid still clinging to Hotch.

“I don’ feel better,” Reid confessed once they were inside, “From the alc… the alchoho… the drinks.”

“Did you think you would?” Hotch inquired, steering Reid toward the kitchen.

Slumping down onto the chair Hotch directed him to, Reid shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe. People drink in books.”

As he got out a glass from the cupboard, Hotch smiled to himself. Most people drank because of the influence from friends or peers, after all, and not books. “You shouldn’t do everything you read about.”

“I know that,” Reid said, sounding as if Hotch was an idiot to ever think differently, “Bu’ I wan’ed to. ‘M a grown up.”

Hotch didn’t comment as he handed Reid the glass of water, just looked down sternly at the younger man as he obediently gulped down the cold drink. If the Reid retained the belief that ‘I’m a grown up’ was an acceptable defense tomorrow, they’d discuss it, but right now he couldn’t really fault Reid for not thinking clearly.

“Ho-otch? Are you mad?”

“A little,” Hotch replied honestly, “Because you know better.”

Reid nodded slowly, and then frowned as if he was deep in thought. “Is… is Gideon gonna leave again?”

“What do you mean?”

“I messed up.”

Suddenly regretting his bruised knuckles a lot less, Hotch sat down next to Reid. Damn Gideon. “Spencer, Gideon didn’t leave because of anything you did.”

Not saying anything, Reid curled in on himself and glared down at his shoes as if they were responsible for all the evil in the world. He sniffled and Hotch felt a wave of helplessness wash over him. This kind of thing he couldn’t handle.

But he was going to do his best, anyway, so he reached out and gently squeezed Reid’s shoulder. “Jason has always been proud of you.”

“Then why’d ‘e leave?”

Because he’s a goddamn idiot, Hotch thought to himself, but settled for a more neutral answer out loud. “He left the job, not you. You’re the reason he stayed as long as he did.”

Reid scrunched his face up as he considered the words, probably trying to sort through them for some meaning in his alcohol-muddled brain and come up with an answer.

“He left,” he finally settled for. Hotch nodded.

“Yes, he did,” he said, then got to his feet with a small sigh, “Let’s get you to bed now. I’ll get you something to sleep in and you can go wash up a bit.”

Fortunately, the younger man apparently decided to be obedient; he did what Hotch told him to and was tucked in bed only fifteen minutes later. With a deep sigh, Hotch then sat down at his kitchen table, taking his phone from his pocket and pushing a few buttons.

He needed advice and, as much as he hated to admit it, reassurances.

 

* * *

 

The dinner Rossi had with Gideon was surprisingly relaxed, in spite of the knowledge that everything wasn’t normal being there in the background. Neither of them knew if Reid would dare welcome Gideon back in his life, and if he didn’t Rossi knew that Gideon would leave without questions.

Rossi, on the other hand, _would_ ask questions if Reid rejected Gideon. Both Gideon and Hotch were convinced that Reid had the right to make the decision on his own and Rossi agreed with them to a degree, but he was also of the opinion that it had to be considered that a large part of Reid was still an insecure kid. If he told Gideon to leave, it would be at least in part because he didn’t quite dare believe that Gideon really _did_ love him.

And since that was a mistaken fear, not allowing Gideon back on those grounds would be a bad decision. Kids didn’t always know what was best for them.

Speaking of kids, his cell phone suddenly began ringing and lit up with Hotch’s name on the display. “Aaron?” he answered.

“Dave,” Hotch’s answer came, “Uh… are you busy?”

“Not for you. What’s up?”

“I just picked up Reid from the Hamilton.”

“Ah.” No wonder Hotch sounded so tense. “Drunk?”

“Yah.”

“How drunk? Did he throw up? Pass out? Make out with the director’s daughter?”

“You’re confusing him with yourself,” Hotch retorted drily, “But no. He’s still drunker than he’s ever been before, though. He could barely walk on his own and he argued with me about leaving.”

The last, Rossi thought, was probably more a sign that Reid was beginning to emotionally enter the stage most people went through sometime in their teens, but Hotch didn’t need to be told that right now.

“So why’re you calling?”

“Well… I…” Hotch was quiet for a long time, before his query tumbled out, “I should spank him, shouldn’t I?”

Rossi, in turn, was silent for a beat. “What would have happened to you if it’d been you who holed yourself up in a bar and got drunk? Come to think of it, what _has_ happened to you when you’ve done it?”

He heard Hotch sigh deeply. “I hate punishing him, Dave.”

“You think I like punishing you?” Rossi retorted.

“No, of course not. But…”

Hotch trailed off, but Rossi could easily hear the implied continuation: ‘I know I need to do this; I just want you to comfort me about it and listen to my fears.’

“Aaron, son,” Rossi said as gently as he could, “How do you feel about being spanked?”

“I…” Hotch hesitated, then swallowed, “I see what you mean, but…”

“No buts. The kid needs to know his place in the family hasn’t changed. And that drinking alone in bars isn’t an acceptable way to deal with problems.” Rossi had learned that lesson the hard way – more than once, actually.

“I know that. And… I will do it. I just don’t like it.”

“I know you don’t,” Rossi replied, “Trust me. But you should do it. I’ll bet you a hundred bucks that this wasn’t all about the kid trying to drown his sorrows; it’s about pushing boundaries as well. Jason coming back brought up insecurities. And, well… drinking’s a classic.”

“I guess it is.” Hotch sounded reluctant to admit it, but he’d always been good at facing uncomfortable things. “It’s not good, though.”

“So make sure he doesn’t do it again. Or at least thinks very carefully about it,” Rossi advised, “And then take him here to see Jason again.”

“Yeah. If he wants to.”

“If he doesn’t want to as well.”

Rossi could almost see Hotch’s frown. “I won’t force him. Jason hurt him, Dave. He has to be allowed to make the choice himself.

“Sure. As long as it’s the right choice.”

Hotch snorted. “Is this where you give your families-aren’t-democracies speech? Because I really don’t need to hear that again.”

“It’s not a speech,” Rossi replied, a bit annoyed, “And maybe you do. Or are you really gonna throw away Reid’s chance at having a father in his life out of some misguided wish to let him be independent?”

For several seconds Hotch was quiet, and Rossi knew he had scored a point.

“Jason lost the right to ask anything from Reid when he left,” Hotch said finally.

“This isn’t about Jason,” Rossi retorted, “It’s about Reid. And it’s about you, as well.” He hesitated for a beat, not sure whether he wanted to tell Hotch this. But then he decided that if Hotch was so big on people making their own decisions, he would have to handle having his motivations laid out for him.

He continued. “You’re pissed at Jason and you share Reid’s insecurities. You’re not letting Reid make the decision on his own only because you think it’s his right; you’re also afraid of making the decision for him because you’re afraid that if you do what your brain is telling you to do and make Reid see Jason it’ll end up hurting the kid. And you.”

“Intra-team profiling isn’t allowed,” Hotch said tersely after a moment’s silence. Rossi snorted.

“I’m not speaking as a team member right now,” he said and then continued, more gently, “I’m speaking as someone who cares a lot about you and want what’s best for you. And for Reid.”

“And that’s taking away his choice?”

Rossi sighed. “Look, Aaron, I’m not asking you to drag him over here in a straight-jacket; I’m telling you to tell him that speaking to Jason is the best thing for him.”

“And is it?”

“What do you think?” Rossi shot back. Hotch was silent for several seconds before he spoke, his voice a mix of resignation and exasperated amusement.

“Sometimes I don’t like you.”

“Kids don’t have to like their parents all the time. Now go get some sleep. You’re gonna need it to deal with the kid tomorrow.”

He hung up at that, deciding not to – amusing as it might have been – listen to a flustered Hotch trying to find a good response to his words.

 

* * *

 

Reid’s head was pounding when he woke up and he couldn’t hold back a groan as he experimentally rolled over to his side. He was mildly nauseous and, feeling very sorry for himself, he groaned again. To his surprise, he got a chuckle in reply; opening his eyes to peer blearily at the world, he saw Hotch standing in the doorway with crossed arms. That was what must have woken him up.

“Hi, Hotch,” he said in what was an annoyingly squeaky voice. The Unit Chief raised his eyebrows.

“Hi, Reid,” he said evenly, “How are you feeling?”

“I… I think I’m hung-over,” Reid replied, furrowing his brow thoughtfully.

Hotch scoffed. “From the state you were in last night, so do I. There’s aspirin and breakfast in the kitchen. You’ve got ten minutes.”

With that Hotch turned and went back to kitchen, leaving Reid staring after him with a dumbstruck expression. That was… clear, at least. Reluctant to leave the warmth of the covers, Reid hesitantly stuck a foot over the edge of the bed. He really didn’t like this hangover thing, he decided. Still bleary-eyed, he stumbled over to the bathroom, taking an inventory of himself. He was wearing what must be a pair of Hotch’s pajamas, thankfully put on by himself and not by Hotch. He had a headache, but not the worst he’d had, and the nausea was manageable.

He rinsed off his face with cold water and took care of his business, then brushed his teeth and gave his hair an improvised combing through with his fingers. Deciding he looked presentable, Reid then went out to the kitchen.

The stern expression on Hotch’s face as he stood by the table with crossed arms brought him to a stop. The Unit Chief pointed to a chair. “Sit down. There’s aspirin on the table.”

Keeping his eyes on the floor, Reid obediently slunk into the chair and reached for the small pills lying there waiting for him. When he’d gulped them down, Hotch silently placed a plate of bacon and eggs in front of him. Reid frowned at it. He usually ate a lot less for breakfast and the churning in his stomach didn’t exactly invite a heavy meal.

“You’ll feel better once you’ve eaten,” Hotch said before Reid had time to say anything, “Trust me.”

Reid wasn’t entirely convinced, but the tone in his boss’s voice didn’t exactly invite argument, so with a doubtful frown he took a bite of the eggs. It tasted surprisingly good and he was already wolfing down the rest of the meal when Hotch placed a cup of coffee next to him, before he too took a seat, sipping at his own cup.

It didn’t take Reid long to finish breakfast, and he did actually feel much better once the food was in him and the aspirins and coffee were beginning to take effect.

“You feeling better?” Hotch asked. Not quite brave enough to meet the man’s eyes straight on just yet, Reid looked up at him from under his fringe, hesitating about whether denying that he was better would give him more time, “We’re going to have our talk regardless.”

“I feel better,” Reid mumbled, picking at the hem of the slightly too large t-shirt, “This isn’t so bad, really.”

“Let’s try to keep your experience of hangovers on that level,” Hotch said drily, getting to his feet, “Living room.”

The tone in his voice made Reid scramble to obey and he entered the living room just a pace after Hotch, almost walking into him when he stopped.

“Take a seat.” Hotch nodded toward the sofa, crossing his arms once again. Reid reluctantly obeyed, taking a seat in the corner and wrapping his arms around himself, “Would you care to explain yourself?”

Reid frowned, looking down at his feet. “I’m an adult,” he mumbled.                      

“That’s not an explanation.”

“No,” Reid conceded, “But… I’m an _adult_. I’m over twenty-one, so I can drink if I want to.”

He couldn’t bring himself to look at his boss as he offered the defense he had no real hope would work. It was true, but Hotch probably wouldn’t see it that way. Because being an adult also _should_ mean that he didn’t need to worry about being spanked, or told to eat more or to go to sleep.

“I don’t mind you drinking, Reid. In _reasonable_ amounts. But you could barely walk upright last night. Being that drunk is not acceptable.”

Reid raised his chin defiantly. “Morgan’s been drunk. And Prentiss. And Garcia. And so have you!”

“Drunk, yes. Not completely wasted,” Hotch retorted, “And not alone in a bar. It’s dangerous.”

“No, it’s not! I had four drinks. Twenty-four centiliters of 38.5 percent vodka, that’s 9.12 centiliters of alcohol and averagely that would make the alcohol content in the body about 1.2 per mille which isn’t dangerous at all!”

“Spencer,” Hotch said slowly and quietly, “You couldn’t stand up straight. If the owner hadn’t called me, I’m not sure you would have gotten home at all.”

“I could have taken a cab.”

“Or you could have passed out in the gutter. Do you really not understand why I’m upset about this?”

The look on Hotch’s face made it very clear that it would be a lot better for Reid if he _did_ understand, so after a moment’s hesitation, Reid darted a look at Hotch and gave a small nod.

“I understand,” he admitted. And he did, obviously. He _knew_ drinking was dangerous: he’d read the statistics and the reports. Also, he might have given Hotch the calculations for someone weighing a bit – a large bit – more than Reid did…

“Good,” Hotch said. Then he took a deep breath, closing his eyes, “And there’s also your… the dilaudid, Reid. You have to consider that.”

Color flooding his cheeks, Reid nodded jerkily. He knew that his boss was right. Alcohol would do nothing for the addiction physically, but psychologically… One night wouldn’t make him slip, but Hotch was right that it had to be considered.

“I know,” he whispered and then, to his great embarrassment, sniffled, “I’m sorry, Hotch.”

“I know you are,” the older man replied, “But… I’m still going to spank you. You know better than this, young man.”

At that form of address Reid reflexively pushed himself further back into the back of the couch. ‘Young man’ was very, very bad, especially from Hotch. In a final attempt at getting out of the punishment he knew was coming – or at least softening it – he raised his head to glare at Hotch. His collar, though, and not his face. “You punched Gideon!”

“Yes, I did. And that was wrong of me. But this isn’t about Gideon. It’s about how you handled your feelings about him being back. I don’t care if you shout at him or refuse to talk to him, but self-destructive behavior is _never_ acceptable.”

Without saying anything more and without waiting for Reid’s answer, Hotch took a few long steps over to the sofa and sat down next to Reid. “Well,” he said, patting his thigh, “Come on.”

Reid gave him a pleading look but there wasn’t even a crack in Hotch’s forbidding expression, so with a sigh Reid allowed the Unit Chief to pull him across his lap. He squirmed a bit, trying to get comfortable – as comfortable as it was possible to be in this position – but stilled when Hotch gave him a warning pat.

“Tell me what you’re being punished for, Spencer.”

“For drinking,” Reid began, not entirely surprised when his answer was followed by the first swat.

“For getting drunk,” Hotch corrected, applying another stinging swat. He kept spanking in silence after that, doing it as methodically as he did everything else; his hand fell in a regular pattern, bouncing off Reid’s thinly protected backside with only a split-second’s pause in between each swat. “Why isn’t that allowed?”

“Because it’s – ah! – dangerous,” Reid replied, yelping as a swat landed on the top of his thigh.

“Why?”

“Because it dims your cognitive and motor functions. And… and alcohol poisoning!”

“Yes,” Hotch agreed, “And because of your… history.”

He put more force in his swats after that, each one landing with a loud smack that Reid was convinced the neighbors must be hearing. Before long, Reid was squirming over Hotch’s lap, futilely trying to twist in some way that would make the next swat land somewhere on his butt that wasn’t already stinging. The problem with that, of course – other than Hotch’s arm around his waist keeping him firmly in place – was that there was no part that wasn’t stinging.

“Hotch,” he pleaded, “I’m sorry.”

“Good,” Hotch said, “But we’re not done.”

Hotch mercilessly kept spanking, bringing his hand down with an unyielding regularity until tears were spilling from Reid’s eyes and he couldn’t keep his feet from kicking. “Hoootch! Please?”

His words were ignored as the older man continued, soon enough having Reid actually crying and flailing around to get away from Hotch’s unfailing aim. He was _trying_ to stay still, to take the punishment like the grown man he was, but… he couldn’t. His backside was _burning_ and the chaotic emotions about seeing Gideon again were pushing their way up to the surface, making it impossible to get his desperate crying under control.

“I don’t care how angry you are with Jason,” Hotch finally said, “but you _will not_ act out like this. Is that understood?”

“Y-yes s-sir!” Reid assured the older man, “Please stop! P-please!?”

“Not quite yet,” Hotch replied, then hefted Reid forward and began applying hard smacks to the under-curve of Reid’s butt, at the same tightening his grip on Reid to stop his more and more frantic wriggling.

Finally, the onslaught stopped and Reid was left to draw deep, shaky breaths as he tried to calm down, Hotch’s hand resting as a comfortable weight on his thigh, below the area he had just scorched.

“We’re done,” Hotch mumbled soothingly, “It’s over. You did well. Everything’s fine.”

Reid sniffled, shifting a little as he waited for the pain in his backside to subside at least a little. He raised his arm to swipe at his eyes with his sleeve, but then he realized that it was Hotch’s shirt he was wearing and sniffled again. He heard the Unit Chief’s familiar chuckle from above him and felt a light pat to his backside.

“Let’s get you cleaned up. Are you okay?”

Letting Hotch help him get to his feet, Reid nodded, reaching back to rub at his butt. It didn’t help with the sting that much, but some was better than not at all. “’M okay.”

With a small smile, Hotch too nodded before he pulled Reid into a hug. “I know you’re upset about Jason,” he said, “and I’ll do what I can to help with that. Everything will work out.”

Leaning deeper into the hug, Reid nodded against Hotch’s shoulder and then stood there for a while in silence. Normally, Reid didn’t really like physical contact, but with the team and after a spanking… it was nice.

“Hotch? Do you think Gideon… do you think he’s really going to stay?” His voice sounded small and he wasn’t surprised when Hotch tightened the hug slightly in response.

“Yes,” the older man said after a pause, “I do. If you want him to, he will. Say what you want about him, Jason doesn’t make the same mistake twice.”

Reid hesitated. “He…he really thinks it was a mistake? To leave?”

“He told me it was one of the biggest mistakes of his life. He loves you, Reid. That never changed.”

“He said that.”

“Believe him,” Hotch advised calmly. Reid nodded again, realizing as he did so that he had gotten his tears all over Hotch’s shirt. He pulled away, giving Hotch a shy look.

“I’ve messed up your shirt,” he said. A bit surprised, Hotch looked down at his shoulder, as if he hadn’t noticed Reid’s tears soaking through the fabric before it was pointed out to him.

“It doesn’t matter. It needed washing anyway. Go get cleaned up now. Take a shower, if you like.”

“Okay. Can we… can we wait a while before we go see Gideon? I want to see him, but not right away. Is that okay?”

“Of course,” Hotch said, and then seemed to hesitate before he added, “You’re making the right decision.”

With a small tearful smile, Reid nodded. “I hope so.”

 

* * *

 

Rossi smiled when he opened the door for them, looking Reid up and down with a knowing expression. “Afternoon. How’re you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Reid replied, his cheeks heating as he answered. Because he was pretty sure that Rossi wasn’t just inquiring about his potential hangover but also about his – still rather store – behind.

“Good. Gideon’s in the kitchen. Hotch, I figured we could go do some shopping.”

The Unit Chief nodded, offering Rossi a small smile. “Sorry about putting you out like this.”

“Well, I’m the least likely to get complaints from neighbors about yelling,” Rossi said with a dismissive smile, “and I don’t mind. It’s not like I haven’t got the room.”

He gestured to the expansive building behind him and with a nod of concession, Hotch turned to Reid. “We’ll be back in forty minutes. I expect you to be here.”

Reid nodded, receiving the clear warning in Hotch’s stern voice: don’t run off and do something stupid again or you – and your butt – _will_ regret it. Rossi gave his shoulder a pat and with that both older men headed for Hotch’s car; leaving Reid to face Gideon on his own.

Swallowing, he headed inside, shrugging off his jacket before he headed for the kitchen.

As promised, Gideon was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee in his hands. “I heard you got in a bit of trouble.”

“What’s it to you?” Reid retorted, crossing his arms and remaining just a few steps away from the door. He intended to make perfectly clear that now that he’d processed it a bit, he was pissed at Gideon.

The older man showed no other reaction than raising his eyebrows. “I’m concerned about you. Do you want some coffee?”

His brow furrowing, Reid glared at Gideon. This wasn’t how he wanted the conversation to go; he wanted Gideon to get angry as well. Or at least affected. “No!” he snapped, “I don’t want coffee!”

“All right. How’s your head?”

“Why do you care?”

Gideon’s mouth curved into a small smile. “Because I care about you. Even if you’re angry with me.”

“I’m not angry!” Reid snapped back, reflexively wanting to contradict everything Gideon said. The man seemed to realize that it was that childish impulse that was behind the words, because he smiled again. “Why are you smiling!?”

“I’m happy to be back,” Gideon said calmly, still showing no sign of being annoyed at being yelled at. Reid’s frown deepened. He wasn’t sure what to make of this. How was he supposed to interpret Gideon’s lack of reaction to what would normally have had Reid sent to a corner to calm down or given a few swats?

“If you’re so happy to be here, why’d you leave?”

Spreading his hands, Gideon gave Reid a mild look. “I’ve told you: it was a mistake.”

“It was a stupid mistake!” Reid more or less yelled. Because the older man’s calm was beginning to unsettle him and making him lose grip on his emotions, chief among them a hurt, confused anger. He breathed heavily, arms crossed over his chest and as intense a glare as he could manage focused on Gideon.

“Yes,” the man agreed.

“You’re just going to leave again!” Reid accused. Gideon’s eyebrows drew together.

“No, I’m not.”

Reid snorted derisively. “Until I’m not good enough any longer.”

“Is that what you think?” Gideon asked, his frown deepening, “That I left because of you?”

“It’s the truth, isn’t it?” Reid shot back, turning around so he didn’t have to look at Gideon.

“No, it’s not.”

“Then why did you leave?!” Reid’s voice was definitely loud enough to qualify as shouting at that and without really thinking he banged his fist against the doorframe, “You _said_ I was good enough!”

He hit the doorframe again, hard. This was what he was really angry about, he supposed. Because he had started to believe Gideon when he said Reid was fine just like he was, that he didn’t need to be like everyone else. Be normal. And then, when he had lured Reid into being himself and not hiding, Gideon decided that he didn’t want someone like Reid and left.

“Reid…” Gideon began.

“ _You left!”_ Reid ignored the older man, slamming his hand against the doorframe a third time. He took a deep, hitched breath, trying to blink away the tears that were gathering behind his eyelids.

“Spencer,” Gideon said sternly, “Stop that.”

“No! You left! You don’t get to tell me what to do!” To demonstrate, Reid repeated the action.

If he had wanted a reaction from Gideon, that was the right thing to do, apparently. The former profiler was at Reid’s side after a few long steps, grabbing a firm hold of his arm and pulled him over to the table. Then he took a seat on one of the chairs and pulled Reid down over his lap with an ease that was really unfair. Reid often wished that Gideon wasn’t so much stronger than him.

“I don’t care how angry you are with me,” Gideon spoke as he began to spank, “or even if you shout at me. But you do not get to hurt yourself.”

Normally, the half a dozen swats Gideon had delivered wouldn’t have had Reid more than somewhat uncomfortable, but on a backside already thoroughly spanked by his Unit Chief only hours ago they had his eyes already stinging.

“You can’t do this!” Reid desperately tried to squirm out of Gideon’s grip, kicking and flailing.

“I’m doing it. I won’t let you hurt yourself.”

“You don’t care!”

“You’re wrong. I care a lot,” Gideon replied, voice calm as he kept raining down swats on Reid’s backside.

“Then stop spanking me!” Reid demanded angrily, his voice shrill and tearful.

“Are you going to calm down?” Gideon countered.

“I am calm! Let me go!”

As Reid kept twisting and kicking, Gideon tightened his hold, pulling Reid in more snugly against him. “Not until you calm down.”

“I won’t calm down like this!”

Instead of listening to Reid’s very reasonable argument, Gideon just kept spanking. “Well, you should,” he said, “You know better than to throw tantrums and hurt yourself.”

Reid’s cheeks flooded with heat at the older man’s stern words. He shouldn’t be subject to Gideon’s disapproval anymore, but he knew, if he was honest with himself, that Gideon only made accusations like that when he really thought Reid’s behavior was that of a petulant child. And even though Reid had come to terms with the fact that he couldn’t always regulate his emotions as well as he would have wished, he _could_ at least act more mature than a toddler.

Feeling the tears that had been stinging in his eyes start run down his cheeks, Reid stopped his struggling. Gideon brought his hand down a few more times before he stopped, but by that time the entirety of Reid’s backside was already burning all over. Then Gideon gently helped him stand up, but before Reid had time to quite react he pulled him down again, sitting him on his lap as if he really was a child.

Wrapping still muscular arms around Reid in a tight embrace, Gideon spoke. “No-one’s questioning your right to be angry, Spencer, and no-one expects you to get over it straight away. Just remember two things, all right? I love you and I’m very, very proud of you.”

With a sob, Reid wrapped his arms around Gideon in return and buried his face in the man’s thick sweater. “I- I didn’t w-want you t-to leave,” he hiccupped. Gideon put a warm hand on his neck, squeezing comfortingly, and began to slowly rock Reid back and forth.

“I know,” he said, “But I’m here now and I’ll never leave again. I’m here.”

Reid gratefully allowed Gideon to tuck his head under his chin, managing to envelop him completely as Reid kept sniffling against his chest.

“Are you going to stay?” Reid asked, his voice muffled. Gideon nodded.

“Forever,” he promised.

“Even if I mess up?”

“Even if you mess up.” Gideon’s voice was low and soothing, and Reid realized that he kind of believed him.

They sat like that for a long time, until Reid’s tears had dried out and his breathing was calm and even again. Then Gideon helped him to his feet, putting a hand under his chin so he could look Reid in the eye.

“You okay?” he asked. Reid nodded, swiping at his eyes. Obviously satisfied with the answer, Gideon also gave a short nod.

Then he pushed Reid down on the chair, ignoring Reid surprised gasp of pain as his backside connected with the hard wood, keeping Reid in place with a firm grip on both his arms. Reid squirmed in the older man’s hold, embarrassingly enough feeling the sting of tears in his eyes again.

“Stop fussing,” Gideon ordered, “You’re going to sit here while I cook lunch.”

Not obeying the man’s instruction, Reid kept wriggling as he glared at Gideon. “You can’t punish me. You left.”

The older man raised his eyebrows. “That doesn’t work with something like this. Take a look at your hand.”

Drawing his eyebrows together, Reid did, and had to hide a wince at what he saw. He had, without noticing, broken the skin over his knuckles and the greater part of his hand was already turning a deep blue, matching Hotch. “Oh.”

“Exactly. I won’t have you hurting yourself. That rule you’ll never get out of.”

Gideon let go of Reid’s arms and took a step back, looking down at him sternly, probably prepared to stop Reid if he tried to get up. But for some reason, Reid didn’t. Instead he pressed his lips together and glared down at the floor, shifting in an attempt to find out which position put the least weight on his backside.

Cupping Reid’s chin in his hand, Gideon crouched down in front of him. “We’re going to need to talk more, but I’ve already told you everything you really need to know. I love you, and I’m proud of you.”

Again, Reid’s eyes filled with tears, this time not from the pressure to his behind. He swallowed and raised a hand to wipe away the tear trails on his cheeks. “You mean that?”

“I do,” Gideon replied simply, getting to his feet with a small grimace. Reid guessed his knees were protesting. “I’ll get you some ice for your hand. And I’ll need to change my shirt. _Don’t_ get up!”

 

* * *

 

Gideon had more or less finished making the paella he’d decided on for lunch when he heard the front door open and Rossi calling out in greeting.”Honey, I’m home!”

With a puzzled frown, Reid twisted in his chair to try to look toward the voice’s origin. The young man had obediently stayed seated during the half hour since Gideon had issued the order, even though he had shifted around a lot more than Gideon probably should have allowed. But he was already treading a fine line with dealing out punishment at all.

Because Reid did have a point; abandoning the kid rather did weaken Gideon’s claim on the right to punish him. And he hadn’t planned to assume that place in Reid’s life immediately, either, if he decided to forgive him. But Gideon would never accept Reid hurting himself, so he had on pure instinct put the kid over his knee. Apparently, it had been a good decision.

“Still no broken furniture, I hope,” Rossi continued as he came into the kitchen, Hotch right behind him. Both men took in the scene with practiced eyes, registering everything and drawing conclusions about what had happened.

Hotch’s conclusion seemed to stop at ‘Gideon caused Reid to cry’ though, as his face set in the deep frown that was normally reserved for UnSubs. He opened his mouth to say something, but a light touch on his arm by Rossi stopped him.

“Is this some kind of new hip trend?” the Italian said, choosing instead to focus on Reid’s hand. Reid blushed, reacting to the vaguely amused disbelief in the man’s voice. “Let me see.”

It was a clear order and apparently Reid had gotten to know Rossi well enough to obey; he let Rossi grab his hand and expertly run his fingers over the bruised area. “Well, nothing seems to be broken at least. Door frame?”

“Yes,” Reid said, throwing a glare at Gideon before he turned to Hotch, “Which is better than hitting a person. Tell him to let me get up, Hotch!”

Looking a bit bemused, Hotch raised his eyebrows at Gideon, who shrugged. “Time-outs are effective for dealing with tantrums.”

Reid’s blush was almost impossibly fierce as he glared down at the floor, getting a chuckle from Rossi who gave a strand of Reid’s hair a light flick, at the same time giving Hotch a significant look. “I agree.”

Hotch rolled his eyes, still standing behind Reid. “Well, we’re going to eat now, I suppose.”

“I’m not hungry,” Reid said sulkily.

“Great,” Rossi said, giving Reid a smile that had the kid immediately look a bit apprehensive, “Then you can help me and clean the drainpipes. It’s been ages since anybody did that.”

Reid’s face fell. “But I guess I could eat…”

***

“I could have taken the metro or a cab home,” Reid pointed out for the third time to the man next to him in the car, driving him. Gideon didn’t take his eyes off the road as he answered.

“I’m sure you could. But I wanted to drive you.”

Reid glared at him. “You’re going to need to do a lot of driving to compensate for a year.”

This time Gideon did throw Reid a look from the corner of his eyes, his mouth curving into a small smile. “Maybe I’m not trying to compensate.”

“Then why are you driving me?” Reid accused, “You don’t like driving.”

“I like driving with you.”

Not sure how to reply to that, Reid returned to silence and tried not to make the way he shifted in his seat too obvious. He wasn’t entirely sure why – it was Gideon who was the source of some of his discomfort, after all – but he did.

“What are you going to do now?” Reid asked when the car had been silent for too long, “If you’re not returning to the Bureau, I mean.”

Gideon shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll find an apartment, I guess. Settle in. Do my best to take care of this stubborn kid I know.”

Reid’s eyes flickered up to give the older man a quick, almost shy look. “What if he doesn’t need to be taken care of?”

“Then I’ll do it anyway,” Gideon replied. He smiled. “He doesn’t quite believe it yet, but this kid is the most important thing in the world to me.”

Looking out the window at the cars passing by almost in a blur, Reid was silent for several seconds before he answered. “You’re right. I don’t really believe it.”

“Well, I hope you will, soon,” Gideon said, turning his head to give Reid a gentle smile, his eyes full of unmistakable affection, “I hope you will.”


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

 

“You’re gonna have to let the rest of the team know,” Rossi said.

Gideon nodded, taking a small sip from his whiskey glass. He, Rossi and Hotch – apparently Rossi had decided that Hotch was grown up enough to be included in the ‘council’ – were sitting in Rossi’s study-like room, discussing what their next step would be.

“As soon as possible,” Hotch added, “We’re not on a case right now, and I’d prefer it if this didn’t affect work.”

He sounded terse and looked up from his glass to glare at Gideon, managing to convey that if it did it would be all Gideon’s fault and he would be even angrier. Which was mostly fair, Gideon supposed.

“How are they doing?” he asked instead of answering immediately. Rossi shrugged, while Hotch just glared.

“They’re fine. JJ’s about to move in with a New Orleans cop. I think you’ve met him: LaMontagne?”

Gideon nodded. He remembered LaMontagne, though not very well; he’d been preoccupied with worry about Reid during that case. But the two had obviously gotten along.

“Otherwise, I don’t think anything’s major going on,” Rossi said, “Hotch?”

The younger man raised his eyebrows, giving Gideon a look. “Not anything you’d be interested in.”

“ _Constructive_ , Aaron,” Rossi growled warningly before Gideon had time to say anything. Hotch pressed his lips together, giving Rossi a disgruntled look, but then he gave in and leant back in his armchair, crossing his arms. Gideon was inclined to say that he was sulking.

“What do you think is best? All of them at once or one at a time?” Gideon asked. Rossi considered.

“All of them at once,” he said finally, “Otherwise there’ll be hard feelings about the order, whatever it is. Aaron?”

For a moment Hotch looked as if he would make some acidic comment, but then he shrugged. “I agree.”

“Good. Lunch tomorrow, then.” Rossi grinned. “I’ll stock up on ice.”

 

* * *

 

“Jo thinks I should talk to you,” Hotch said quietly, staring thoughtfully out the window, “And Alex does too, I guess. About my feelings.”

He couldn’t quite hide a grimace at the last words. He didn’t really have anything against talking about feelings – he didn’t think it was emasculating or a sign of weakness. In principle. In practice, when it was _his_ feelings, he hated it.

“Talking is good,” Rossi agreed. He studied Hotch in silence, tilting his head. “You’re angry.”

Hotch nodded. That was a fairly easy emotion to begin with. He didn’t _like_ being angry, but he could handle it.

“He abandoned us,” Hotch replied with a small resigned shrug, “I… yes, I’m angry.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else.” Rossi shrugged as well, taking a sip of his whiskey before he continued, “I’m guessing you don’t feel like apologizing just yet?”

“Well…” Hotch sighed. “I think Jo was really upset.”

“Yeah. She really doesn’t like violence. In case you didn’t get that.”

“She threatened to… come down here. And _talk_ with me.”

“Alex told me,” Rossi replied, sounding amused, “Are you really surprised?”

“No. Not really,” Hotch answered honestly. And he wasn’t really; Jo was usually soft-spoken and calmer than her husband, the one who comforted Hotch rather than disciplined him. But Hotch had never doubted that Jo could be stern when she wanted to.

They went silent after that. Hotch was swirling his glass in his hands, watching as the whiskey sloshed around in circles. It was his second glass this evening – Rossi had poured him another after Gideon had left them – and while he was far from drunk, a comfortable warmth was beginning to spread through him. Rossi really did have good liquor.

“I’m going to apologize,” Hotch said after another sip, “I always was going to, I think. It’s just… it’s easier to just be angry.”

Rossi nodded. “People don’t think about it, but sometimes it’s just as hard to forgive as it is to apologize. Anger is… an easy emotion, generally. Holding on to that is easier than opening yourself up to being hurt again. And also, it’s more difficult for you right now because you’re team leader.”

Hotch sighed, giving Rossi an exasperated look. “Could you at least pretend sometimes that you don’t know everything I’m thinking?”

“If you’re good,” Rossi replied with a quick smile, “But come on. What do you think would happen if you forgive Jason?”

“He’d be happy,” Hotch began, “and… _you_ would be happy?”

“I… wouldn’t be unhappy. But don’t forgive him just because it’s what _I_ want. It wouldn’t really be forgiveness then, would it?”

“I guess not,” Hotch agreed. Then he took another drink from his glass. “Dave… what if I decided that what he did is unforgivable? Would you let me do that?”

“No,” Rossi said without hesitation. Hotch frowned. It had been a hypothetical question – he knew that he was going to end up forgiving Gideon – but he didn’t like being told what he could think. He had accepted that Rossi was allowed to moderate his behavior, but the older man didn’t have any say in what he thought. Except about himself.

“I’m aware you don’t think families are democracies,” Hotch drawled, “but I didn’t know you considered them autocracies.”

Rossi raised his eyebrows. “Cut the attitude, Aaron. And I’m not saying I’m gonna beat forgiveness into you, I’m saying I’ll keep pushing you about it.”

Hotch was silent for several seconds. “Why?”

“Because family forgive each other. And because you _want_ to forgive him. You’re just afraid to do it.”

“Why would I be afraid?” Hotch demanded. Rossi shrugged.

“You tell me.”

“This isn’t therapy, Dave,” Hotch snapped, glaring at the older man, “Say what you want to say. I don’t want to play guessing games.”

His eyebrows rising, Rossi tilted his head. “Didn’t I say to cut the attitude? You’re allowed to snap at Jason. Not at me.”

It only took seconds until Hotch could no longer force himself to meet Rossi’s eyes and bowed his head in acquiescence. “Sorry. But… please tell me what you mean.”

“All right. You’re afraid of being hurt again,” Rossi said, “but that wouldn’t really stop you by itself. Mostly, you’re afraid that the others are gonna get hurt again and that it’ll be your fault this time.”

Hotch sighed. Because Rossi was right. If Hotch forgave Gideon, he knew that the rest of the team would take that as a cue to forgive as well, even if he said that wasn’t what he expected. And if Gideon ended up hurting everyone, it would be Hotch’s fault. Even more so than last time.

“Are you saying it wouldn’t?”

“I’m saying it’s not an issue,” Rossi replied with a small shrug, “Jason isn’t leaving again. You know that.”

“That’s what I told Reid,” Hotch admitted, “But… I didn’t think he would leave last time, either. And I was wrong.”

Rossi’s eyes suddenly narrowed. “Aaron…” he said, studying Hotch intently. “Do you think it’s your fault that Jason left in the first place?”

Closing his eyes, Hotch made small resigned movement of his shoulders. “I don’t think he left _because_ of me. But I didn’t prevent it.”

“How could you have? Locked him in a cellar?”

“I don’t know,” Hotch said, raising a hand to rub at his forehead, “But I should have done _something_. Made sure he took a vacation, made him see a psychologist. _Something._ ”

“You’re not responsible for Jason, Hotch,” Rossi said.

“I’m Unit Chief. The team’s wellbeing…”

Rossi interrupted him with a sharp hand movement. “To a degree. But not so much with Jason. He was supposed to be someone who took care of you. Not one more person you had to look out for.”

“I know. But…” Hotch shifted in his seat, his eyes darting off to the side, “Well, _you_ always looked out for Jason.”

In a way, it was embarrassing to admit that he modeled his behavior after Rossi like that; not only doing what the older man told him to do, but trying to emulate him in other ways as well.

“I guess that’s true,” Rossi admitted with a small smile, “But you’re not responsible for Jason’s choices. Okay?”

With his head bowed, Hotch studied Rossi while sipping at his drink. He was inclined to believe Rossi. Partly because he _wanted_ to think it wasn’t his fault; despite what Rossi sometimes seemed to think, Hotch didn’t _like_ blaming himself. It was just that he couldn’t in good conscience deny responsibility for something that was his fault. But when Rossi told him to… Because another part of his reason to believe Rossi was that he turned out to be right about things an annoyingly large part of the time.

“I’m going to consider it,” Hotch said, “But you know that’s all I can promise.”

“Yeah, I know,” Rossi agreed, for some reason sighing. He was silent for a while, taking a sip of his whiskey, “You handled this whole thing really well, by the way. Except a few details.”

Hotch smiled, ridiculously pleased at his mentor’s praise. “Thanks. I… Thanks.”

“I mean it,” Rossi said, “I’m proud of you.” He made a small grimace. “I should say that more often.”

Ducking his head, Hotch swallowed down the last of the contents of his glass. “You don’t need to.”

“I do, until you believe it,” Rossi said simply. He nodded toward Hotch’s empty glass. “Want a refill?”

“No, thanks,” Hotch said, shaking his head. Then his lips curled up in a small, wry smile. “It’s funny, but I feel a little guilty about drinking, after spanking Reid for it.”

“For getting drunk, not drinking,” Rossi corrected, “You made that clear to him, right?”

Hotch inclined his head.

“Good. And you just need to learn to be a bit more hypocritical,” Rossi replied, flashing a smile, “Did I ever tell you that Stark actually washed my mouth out with soap once?”

“Really?”

“Yeah. For cursing in front of a couple of kids. He told me to watch my damn mouth.”

 

* * *

 

Morgan had been surprised by the sudden lunch invitation from Rossi, but had accepted without hesitation. Hanging out with the team was always good and Rossi was a great cook. He suspected that there was some agenda behind the get-together, but he hadn’t pushed. If there was something going on, he’d find out soon enough.

From the lack of cars outside Rossi’s house, Morgan guessed he was the first to arrive, excepting Hotch whose car stood next to Rossi’s. There was also a car Morgan didn’t recognize. Was there going to be more visitors? Or, perhaps more likely, Rossi had bought a new car. The man had more money that he knew what to do with, after all.

He rang the doorbell and after a few moments the door was opened by Hotch.

“Morgan,” he greeted with a nod, “Come in.”

“Hotch. Is something going on?” Morgan stepped inside, shrugging of his jacket as he gave Hotch a concerned look. Hotch hesitated for a moment before he inclined his head.

“That’s one way of putting it,” he said drily before he turned around and headed into the house. Morgan looked after him with raised eyebrows, curious rather than annoyed. That was cryptic.

He followed Hotch into the house, heading toward the kitchen.

Where he stopped dead in the doorway.

“Hello, Morgan,” Jason Gideon said calmly from his seat at Rossi’s kitchen table. Morgan opened his mouth, but for several seconds no sound came out; he simply didn’t know what to say. How were you supposed to react to someone you thought you’d never see again showing up out of nowhere?”

So instead of addressing Gideon, he turned to Hotch. “What the hell, man?”

Hotch nodded toward Gideon. “Jason is back. He came Friday.”

Morgan turned back to Gideon, opening his mouth again. The former profiler looked completely serene, attentively studying Morgan but showing no signs that he was the slightest bit upset. Realizing that he still didn’t know what to say to him, Morgan turned back to Hotch, who had taken a place standing next to Rossi.

“What the hell?” he repeated, “Couldn’t you have given me some warning?”

“We could have, but we decided not to,” Rossi answered instead of Hotch, then gave the Unit Chief a significant look, “This team apparently can’t be trusted to act sensibly when they’re given surprising news.”

“Are you _ever_ going to let that go?” Hotch mumbled under his breath as he glared at the older man. Then he turned to Morgan again. “We’ll leave the two of you alone for a while. To talk.”

“And again, don’t break any furniture!” Rossi said as he left with Hotch, sounding as if it was an instruction he had given enough times to grow bored with.

“How are you doing?” Gideon asked calmly when the two others had left the room. Morgan crossed his arms and glared at him.

“That’s what you ask?” he demanded, “You disappear on us for what? eleven months and then you show up here and ask me how I’m doing?”

The older man raised his eyebrows. “What should I do?”

Morgan exhaled forcefully, shaking his head incredulously as he walked over to one of the windows. “I don’t know, man. You should apologize! You should… I don’t know. You’re the one who left!”

He turned around to glare at Gideon again. This time, he noticed there was a bruise – fading, but still clearly visible – on the right side of his face. Frowning, Morgan nodded toward the mark. “What happened to your face?”

The corner of Gideon’s mouth rose in a small smile. “Hotch wasn’t any happier with me than you are.”

It took a second until the man’s words registered – they were simply too unbelievable – and then a disbelieving chuckle escaped Morgan. “Hotch took a swing at you?”

Gideon inclined his head. “He’s good at it, too. I’m still sore. So if you feel like giving it a go as well, hit my left side.”

Still a bit incredulous, Morgan shook his head. It was… strange to imagine the composed Unit Chief lose his temper and take a swing at someone, even though Morgan completely understood him. He was tempted to take Gideon up on his offer and throw a punch as well, actually.

Morgan hadn’t really been that hurt by Gideon leaving. Not like Reid, or even like Hotch. Gideon had been a mentor to him, as would have been the case with any senior profiler. He had taught Morgan the intricacies of the job and helped him through the rough patches. He’d liked the man and he’d looked up to him, but he’d never really _depended_ on him. Maybe because he had a stable family back home.

But Reid _had_ , and Morgan looked out for Reid. The kid was insecure – sometimes almost painfully so – and Gideon’s departure had hurt him. _A lot_. And Morgan could understand Gideon’s motivation, but the profiler had committed himself to Reid and then abandoned that commitment.

And it wasn’t as large a part in Morgan’s anger, but Gideon had hurt Hotch as well.

Basically, Gideon had fucked up and hurt people Morgan cared about.

“Just tell me why,” Morgan said finally. Gideon nodded slowly, thoughtfully.

“I stopped believing that what we do can make a difference,” he said with a small shrug. Morgan frowned.

“You’re the one who convinced me that it did, when I was doubting it,” he said, “Save one life and you save the world.”

Gideon gave a small smile. “Sometimes it’s easier to preach than to practice.”

“And what about Reid?” Morgan demanded, deciding to abandon Gideon’s reasons for leaving for the moment, “He depended on you!”

“Leaving Reid…” Gideon began slowly, staring at some far off point, “is one of the worst mistakes of my life. Leaving the rest of you, as well.”

“Saying that doesn’t change that it’s what you did!”

“No, it doesn’t,” Gideon agreed calmly, “Nothing would. I’m not asking anyone to forget, I’m asking for forgiveness.”

Morgan frowned, taking a few steps toward Gideon. If the man was threatened by the action, he didn’t show it. “You don’t have the right to ask for forgiveness.”

“Do we ever have the _right_ to ask forgiveness?” Gideon mused, his eyebrows rising in an expression of open curiosity, “If we did, wouldn’t we already be forgiven?”

“I don’t want philosophy!” Morgan retorted, annoyed at Gideon for trying to turn the conversation from how he’d screwed up to some abstract bullshit about forgiveness, “You abandoned Reid! You can’t just expect to… to saunter back into his life and just have him forgive you!”

“Who says that’s what I’m doing?”

“Well, you’re here!” Morgan snapped, spreading his hands, “Without warning, without a word, without…”

“I’m here meeting you because I’ve already spoken to Reid,” Gideon said calmly, “and he’s agreed to try to… give me a second chance.”

“He thinks you left because of him.”

Gideon inclined his head. “I know. I regret that. But I’m going to convince him that’s not the case.”

“Well, abandoning him didn’t exactly help with that,” Morgan said bitterly, not caring that it was a somewhat illogical accusation.

“Sticking around will,” Gideon replied with a small shrug, “And that’s what I’m gonna do.”

Drawing a deep breath, Morgan shook his head. “Look, whatever Reid or Hotch or Rossi might feel like, I’m still pissed at you.”

“Believe me, Hotch hasn’t forgiven me,” Gideon said, “I don’t think he’s going to until he’s convinced Reid is fine. Just like you.” The man smiled. “It probably doesn’t make you any happier, but part of the reason I left was because I knew Reid would still have people looking out for him.”

“You’re right,” Morgan said, “It doesn’t make me any happier. And he _does_ have people looking out for him.”

He gave Gideon the most threatening glare he could as he said the words, hoping to convey to him that looking out for Reid included kicking Gideon’s ass if he hurt the kid. Gideon seemed to get it; he gave a nod of acknowledgment and a small lopsided smile.

Satisfied, Morgan nodded back before he left the kitchen without any further words and went to find Hotch and Rossi.

 

* * *

 

Gideon hadn’t expected his meeting with the girls to involve violence, but neither had he expected it to involve having Garcia wrapped around him and sobbing into his shoulder.

She, JJ and Prentiss had all arrived together – protecting the environment, apparently – and had been as obviously suspicious as Morgan that there was some kind of agenda behind the lunch invitation.

“What’s up, Rossi?” Gideon heard Prentiss ask as soon as they were inside the door.

“Maybe I just wanted to have lunch with my team?” Rossi shot back, smirk audible in his voice.

“Riiight,” Prentiss said. There were all-round chuckles.

“I’m happy as long as there’s food,” JJ quipped. Gideon hoped she’d continue feeling that way.

“Hello,” he said as the three women entered the room.

Prentiss was the first to recover from the surprise, not unexpectedly. Her posture changed slightly into one prepared for a fight, probably unintentionally, and her hand went to her hip where her gun would have been. “Gideon.”

“Prentiss,” Gideon replied with a small nod. The woman’s eyes narrowed as she studied him for a moment longer before she turned to Rossi.

“I’d ask if this was a joke, but it obviously isn’t,” she said frostily. Rossi shrugged.

“It’d be a pretty lousy one,” he said.

“Well, since it’s not a joke, what is it?” JJ asked, looking at Gideon with a concerned frown. “Are you sick?”

“No,” Gideon said.

“So why are you back?” It was Prentiss asking the sharp question, her feet still hip-wide and her body on the brink of movement. In many ways, Prentiss was the team-member Gideon would be most hesitant to take on in a fight.

“I… realized something,” he said, spreading his hands in a gesture of openness and sincerity, “That I had a better chance of sorting out my problems here than away from everyone I care about. And that I’d added a new problem by leaving Reid and you people.”

It was at that point Garcia recovered from her shock and rushed over to Gideon. Prepared for another blow, Gideon quickly stood but instead of a punch he was met by arms being wrapped around him in a tight hug.

“Oh, sir,” Garcia said quickly, “I’m so sorry you felt you had to leave like that and I’m so happy you’re back. And I’m really angry you left my baby genius but I’m so happy you’re back for him!”

She paused to take a breath and with a somewhat amused smile, JJ broke her off. “Pen, breathe.”

Nodding to JJ in thanks – he still wasn’t used to Garcia’s… Garci-ishness – Gideon, a bit awkwardly, patted Garcia’s back. “It’s good to be back, Garcia. And I’m sorry about leaving.”

He wasn’t sure which part of his answer caused it, but Garcia suddenly started crying, burying her face against Gideon’s chest. Surprised, Gideon did what he would have done with Reid and wrapped his arms around Garcia, rubbing her back. To Gideon’s alarm, that only made her cry harder.

Pleadingly, he gave JJ and Prentiss a questioning look from over the top of Garcia’s head, noticing from the corner of his eye that Rossi was trying hard not to grin at Gideon’s obvious discomfort.

“PG,” Prentiss said softly, “Calm down.”

Nodding vigorously, Garcia pulled back from Gideon. “I’m sorry, sir. It’s just…”

“It’s fine,” Gideon said before she had time to continue, offering her a small smile, “I don’t mind.”

Swiping at her eyes, Garcia nodded. “Thank you. I’m just…”

Her eyes filled with tears again but before Gideon had to say anything, Rossi spoke up. “Let me get you a drink. Or tea?”

“Tea, please,” Garcia replied, sniffling a little, “It’s a bit early for a drink, isn’t it?”

Rossi shrugged. “It’s after breakfast,” he said, but nevertheless moved over to the counter to begin the tea-making process.

“Sit down,” JJ said gently, putting a hand on Garcia’s shoulder and guiding her to a chair. Then she turned to Gideon. “You really hurt Spence by leaving.”

Gideon inclined his head. “I know.”

“Have you talked to him?”

“Yes. It went… well.”

“Well?” Prentiss echoed sharply. Gideon shrugged.

“I told him that I love him. He almost believed me.”

Two hard stares were focused on him for a long stretch of silence, both JJ and Prentiss standing very still and just watching him. Then they exchanged a quick glance and seemed to make a decision. Prentiss remained tense as JJ walked over to Gideon and her eyes followed every movement as JJ gave Gideon a light hug.

“Welcome back,” she said quietly, “Don’t leave again.”

Her voice was soft as she said the words and Gideon might have been fooled to think that it was just a request if he hadn't seen the steel underlying the concern in her eyes as she nodded to him and moved back to join Garcia. What she had said was just as much a threat as anything Morgan or Hotch had said. And she was just as capable of going through on it.

Prentiss just gave him a short acknowledging nod, but she did relax and her hand moved away from her hip. “What happened to your face?”

“Hotch isn’t very happy with me,” Gideon said. Prentiss eyebrows rose.

“Hotch? I would have guessed Morgan.”

“Morgan was tempted,” Gideon said, “but I think he trusted Hotch to have done a good enough job of it.”

JJ looked between Gideon and Rossi with a small frown. “Did you let Morgan know before us? Hotch I understand, but…?”

Rossi shook his head as JJ trailed off. “No, we invited you all to the same time but he was early. And then he took off to see Reid.”

“Good,” JJ said, “He probably needs the company.”

“Yeah, I know,” Rossi replied and then continued, maybe catching the hint of reproach in JJ’s voice that they had left Reid alone at all, “He was invited to lunch as well, but he didn’t want to come. And, well… there didn’t seem to be any reason to force him.”

“We should go see him too!” Garcia said, dabbing at her eyes with a colorful handkerchief, “My baby genius needs a hug!”

“He needs some time to think,” Rossi said, handing her a teacup, “Things have been kind of overwhelming for him.”

“I agree,” JJ said, “Let him process this for a while, Pen. We can go over tonight.”

“If he’s up for it,” Gideon felt the need to interject, “He might not be.”

“We’ll call first,” JJ said with a small nod. Then she looked around the room with a curious expression. “So… is there going to be lunch or was that just a ruse?”

 

* * *

 

**Can I come over?**

The text was from Morgan and Reid considered for a moment before he replied.

**Yes.**

He knew, or at least was fairly certain he knew, why Morgan wanted to see him. Lunch today had been when Gideon was planning to meet the rest of the team. Reid had opted not to come and no-one had pushed him, perhaps realizing that he needed some time to process everything that had happened.

His phone buzzed again.

**You ok?**

Reid quickly sent the text and then, after a moment’s thought, sent another one.

**Did you see Gideon?**

**Yes. Just left Rossi’s place.**

Tapping his fingers against the armrest of his chair, Reid considered how to reply. He wanted to ask what Gideon had said about him, mostly. He was interested in how the meeting had gone otherwise, of course, but knowing how Gideon spoke about Reid to others was more interesting.

**What did he say?**

**Let’s talk when I come over. Driving.**

 

* * *

 

“Hey, Morgan,” Reid greeted his friend as he stepped through the door, holding a plastic bag in one hand.

“Hey, pretty boy. I got us Chinese.”

“Oh. Thanks,” Reid said, accepting the bag. He looked around his apartment for a place to put the food without first having to clear away books and papers. When he found none, he swept away some books from the dinner table to clear an area large enough for two plates. “I only have water to drink.”

“That’s fine,” Morgan said dismissively, having followed Reid into the kitchen. “How are you? Really?”

Shifting slightly under the man’s intent look, Reid gave a small shrug. “I’m… fine, I guess. Take a seat.”

Morgan sat, but didn’t take his eyes off Reid as he moved over to get them glasses of water. And cutlery, for him. He still couldn’t use chopsticks.

“It’s a pretty big thing.”

Reid shrugged again, slipping into the chair next to Morgan. “I guess.”

“It’s okay to be upset.”

Pressing his lips together, Reid gave Morgan an annoyed look. “I know. I’m not a kid.”

His voice must have come out sharper than he intended, because Morgan raised his hands defensively. “Whoa, never said you were! But it’s a big thing. _I’m_ upset.”

A bit of his defensiveness leaving him, Reid nodded and took a bite of his food. Morgan had gotten him lo mein with chicken, Reid’s favorite.

“Did you know that Hotch punched him?” Morgan asked, incredulous admiration clear in his voice. Apparently he was as surprised by Hotch losing his temper as Reid was.

“Yeah, Hotch told me. And I saw the bruise,” he said. He pursed his lips. “Gideon wasn’t even angry, you know.”

“He offered to let me take a swing as well,” Morgan said. Then his eyes narrowed as he seemed to notice what Reid had been trying to hide by as surreptitiously as possible keeping his left hand out of sight. That his knuckles were a deep blue and had a couple of newly formed scabs on them. “Did _you_ punch him?”

“Maybe I did!” Reid snapped, a bit offended that Morgan seemed so incredulous, “I’m not defenseless!”

“I didn’t day that either,” Morgan said, raising his eyebrows. “It looks like you hit something more than once, though. And Gideon wasn’t that bruised.”

He was obviously taking care to sound non-confrontational and Reid suddenly felt a bit bad about being so snappish. It wasn’t as if it was Morgan’s fault that Gideon’s return had stirred up feelings and left them simmering closer to the surface than was normally the case.

“It was a doorframe,” he admitted. Morgan’s eyebrows climbed higher.

“A doorframe?”

“Yeah.” Reid shifted slightly. “I was… uh… angry.”

“How’d Gideon take that?” Morgan asked. Ducking his head and poking at a piece of chicken, Reid made a small grimace.

“He kind of… spanked me,” he said quietly. Then he gave Morgan an indignant look. “And then he made me _sit_ and wait while he cooked lunch. On a _hard_ chair.”

Morgan chuckled and gave a small headshake. “Well, what’d you expect?” then he frowned. “I’m not sure I think he has any right to punish you, though, with how he left.”

Reid frowned. “That’s what I told him. But he said that wouldn’t work with hurting myself. Then he said…”

Blushing, Reid stopped. What Gideon had told him when he dropped him off yesterday wasn’t really something he wanted to share with anyone.

“Yeah?” Reid just took another forkful of the food, not looking at Morgan. “C’mon, kid. What’d he say?”

Sighing deeply, Reid began speaking. “He said… that he understood how upset I was so for the moment he’d let me speak to him like a spoiled brat and throw tantrums without putting me over his knee which is how you should deal with… with misbehaving little boys.”

“Oooh.” Morgan made a sympathetic face. “That’s kind of harsh, kid.”

“I know!” Reid agreed, happy to have someone to sympathize with him, “I don’t throw tantrums! And I don’t act like a spoiled brat, either.”

“Nah, just a regular brat,” Morgan teased, giving Reid a small shove. “So you managed to get in trouble with Gideon on his first day back. Kind of impressive.”

“The second day, actually,” Reid said, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, “But I, uhm… kind of got in trouble with Hotch the first day.”

“Yeah?”

Reid shrugged. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Yeah, you do,” Morgan insisted, “You know you do. C’mon; tell me.”

Stirring his noodles, Reid hesitated. Then he shrugged. “I went to the Hamilton and got drunk. Hotch had to come pick me up.”

“I’m guessing he wasn’t too happy about that?”

“That’s an understatement. He spanked me in the morning.”

“While you were hung-over? That’s rough.”

“He gave me an aspirin first. And breakfast,” Reid said, “And I don’t think I was that hung-over. I didn’t throw up or anything.”

“Be grateful for that,” Morgan said, “Hangovers with nausea are the worst. You wanna stay away from mixing beer with anything.”

“I don’t plan on ever getting hung-over again at all, thanks.”

Morgan scoffed and shook his head, somehow not looking entirely convinced. Which maybe was warranted. A lot of people seemed to keep getting drunk in spite of how terrible hangovers were, so maybe Reid would as well. He doubted it, though.

“Morgan?” Reid asked quietly after another mouthful of his food, “What did Gideon say?” About me, he added to himself.

“Well… he said he was sorry about leaving. That it’d been a mistake. He said he’s stick around.” Morgan hesitated for a moment. “And like I said, he said I could take a swing at him if I liked.”

“Did you?”

“No. Would you have liked me to?”

Reid pursed his lips. “Not really, I guess. I mean… it’s not like it’d solve anything.” He exhaled slowly. “Morgan? Do you think… do you think he means it? That he really is going to stay?”

“Well, kid…” Morgan sighed, “I dunno. But I think so. I mean… Gideon loves you. You don’t need to doubt that. And if he _does_ leave again I’ll hunt him down and drag his ass back.”

Smiling, Reid took a bite of his chicken. He believed his friend.

 

* * *

 

“I want to apologize.”

Gideon looked up from his newspaper, raising his eyebrows in a mild inquiry.

“For punching you,” Hotch clarified, “It was wrong of me.”

“Apology accepted,” Gideon said, folding up his newspaper and taking off his glasses to turn his full attention to Hotch. Making a small grimace, Hotch took a seat opposite him.

“I’m not saying sorry for being angry,” he said, “I want us to be clear on that. Or for you being punched.”

“Then what are you saying sorry for?”

Hotch shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not sure, actually. For using violence at all, I guess.”

As Gideon took off his reading glasses, his mouth curved into a small smile. “Well, Dave actually thinks the punch was a good idea and I’m guessing Alex would approve as well, so…” He paused. “Was it Jo or Dave’s mother who lit into you?”

Feeling his face heating, Hotch ducked his head and offered the older man a small abashed smile. “Jo. Though Alex agreed with her.”

“Well, he does show some sense at times,” Gideon said. Hotch raised his eyebrows.

“I thought you didn’t mind,” he said. Gideon shrugged.

“Well… I can’t really be angry with you. I fully deserved that. But if it was under normal circumstances and you punched a family member – including me – I’d put you over my knee, take your pants down and spank your bare butt, and then I’d hand you over to Dave. You’re better than solving your problems with violence, Hotch.”

This time Hotch’s blush was intense enough to burn and he squirmed in his chair, very carefully not looking at Gideon. “You shouldn’t say things like that to me,” he muttered, not caring that he probably came out sounding like a sulky teenager.

“I shouldn’t?” Gideon inquired mildly.

“No. I’m… uh…”

“Unit Chief?” Gideon supplied, “Grown up? Not a kid anymore? Have those excuses ever worked on Dave, Hotch?”

“No. They haven’t,” Hotch admitted with a small sigh. In fact, they had always pretty much the opposite of worked. He paused. “I guess that’s what I’m sorry about, though. Resorting to violence.”

“Again, apology accepted. I don’t like excuses, but in this case there actually are valid ones.”

“So I can punch you again?”

Gideon gave him an even look. “Why don’t you ask Jo about that?”

Conceding that Gideon had definitely scored a point there, Hotch inclined his head.

“Do you guys talk about me?” he asked suddenly, “I mean… what you tell me, when you…” He broke off uncomfortably, prompting a small smile from Gideon.

“When one of us spanks you? If you’re wearing warm enough clothes? Whether you’re eating your vegetables?” He snorted. “To a degree. We all care about you. And also, Dave is a control freak. I think he’d prefer it if I gave him verbatim transcripts of every talk we have.”

“It’s funny, really,” Hotch said after a moment, allowing himself to be taken in by the aura of benevolent confessor Gideon somehow projected, “I never expected to be thirty-five years old and have four people perfectly prepared to take me over their knee.”

“Five.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Five people,” Gideon clarified, “Dave, Alex, me, Jo and Dave’s mom.”

Hotch frowned thoughtfully. “I didn’t count Mrs. Rossi. Would she… you know?”

“Hotch,” Gideon said simply, drawing out the name in gentle chiding. Obviously, he thought it was a question that Hotch perfectly well knew the answer to. Which was probably true.

Rubbing at his forehead, Hotch sighed. “God…”

Gideon scoffed. “You only realized this just now?

“I guess I didn’t really want to think about it,” Hotch said with a small shrug, “It’s not exactly…”

He trailed off, shrugging. Gideon gave him a long thoughtful look.

“It’s a sign you’re cared for. Greatly.” He put his reading glasses back on and returned to the newspaper. “By all of us.”


End file.
